


A Mission Gone To Hell!

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-02 20:11:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15803736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: It was supposed to be an easy assignment, one of the easiest he could remember them being given.  Well, in all honesty, a lot of the 'easy' ones had turned out to be anything but.  Still, not only had the O'Donnell woman shown up, out of the blue, she'd managed to pull the rug out from under Garrison and the team, louse up the operation so they'd come away without accomplishing what they'd been sent to do, along with managing to get an entire French Underground unit wiped out!  She'd managed to turn a simple, easy mission into a mission gone to hell!!   Just whose side was she on??!





	A Mission Gone To Hell!

**Author's Note:**

> War years, early on in the growing relationship between those at the Mansion and at the Cottage.

*Arrival in Le Havre -

Garrison's POV:  
They'd beached the small boat, met the Underground relay contact, changed into the clothes provided and made their way into the city. For a change they were actually staying at a hotel instead of in a barn or burnt out building somewhere. Their cover seemed to hold together quite well; no one had even raised an eyebrow at the five men, arriving in two separate groups, Actor with Chief and Goniff, Garrison with Casino. Both of them spoke impeccable French and German and were able to handle any inquiries, the check-in process without any problems. Afterwards, they'd headed out to meet Marcel Benoit, the local Underground leader, and from there, they'd take a good look at their target's base of operations. So far, just like clockwork. That was all about to change dramatically.

Garrison had fumed internally from the moment he caught the startled look on Goniff's face, followed his line of sight and realized just who was standing on the other side of the town square, even if she was slightly in the shadows. If it had been back at the village, maybe even in London, it would have been understandable, but hell! They were in Le Havre; what the hell was she even doing here??! The idea that HQ had two operations going on in the same French city at the same time wasn't totally inconceivable, of course, but with the agents being FROM the same place? That was more than a little suspicious. A quick frown, a muttered word from Garrison, and Goniff had pulled himself back in line, and by then the woman had disappeared into the shadows.

Goniff's POV:  
"Ruddy 'ELL!!!" 

Meghada's POV:  
What were they doing here? Surely HQ hadn't sent them out on the same job she'd been sent to handle? She and Richards had agreed; it really WAS a one-person operation, checking on the Underground unit that had been the main point of contact for Colin Myers, and before that, for Anna Lincoln.

Neither of those two quite capable agents had returned home, and Richards had decided maybe his growing suspicions of one Major Bradley just might have some basis in reality, not just in his personal antipathy toward the man. Bradley had been the one to send both Anna and Colin out on assignment, had been the one to put them in touch with the Underground unit leader. Kevin was going to try and delay any more assignments from Bradley til she got back with her report, though they both knew that might not be possible. And if Bradley was a rotten apple, Richards didn't want to spook him prematurely. If he was an enemy operative, there was no telling how much information he might be able to provide the Allies.

Of course, she'd noticed, more and more frequently, that HQ seemed to be working at cross purposes within the ranks. It perhaps WOULDN'T be too surprising to find out Special Forces, Special Ops, and the various other operatives would meet in the field, perhaps even being after the same target. She and Lynn Garrison had discovered that, to their mutual dismay. Damned inefficient, however, and a powder keg just waiting to be set off. Still, her internal alarms were sounding loud and clear.

She met with the Underground unit and discovered 'inefficient' just wasn't the right word. Not when she heard the story of the Vichy intelligence unit that had just arrived to ferret out the Underground leaders and destroy the intelligence cells in the area. She had listened, keen interest, genuine sympathy apparent on her face as she listened to the details, the plan to ambush the Vichy traitors and place the blame on the German occupiers. Her interest grew even stronger as she listened to Marcel describe the Vichy unit.

"There are five of them, with the leader being one Paul Deroux. Blond, green eyes; young, quite good looking, even charming, but a born killer. He and his men have been responsible for the deaths of many of our countrymen."

She asked for descriptions of the other four, and found those descriptions remarkably interesting. Her first sighting, based on her firm request and granted by the courtesy of Marcel Benoit, had been even more interesting. She just hoped Benoit hadn't seen the look on the slender blond's face as he caught sight of her across the street; hopefully she'd been able to mask whatever she herself had felt at that quick glimpse.

She had some contacts in the area; she knew she'd be reaching out to them for information, discreetly. She could do discreet; it was subtle she seemed to have a problem with.

*Putting The Plan Together -

Garrison's POV:  
The meeting with the leader of the Underground had gone well, Garrison thought. The plan was simple - the unit would provide them with the information they needed, along with transportation; Garrison and the team would do their jobs, plant the false information, and meet up with the Underground at the designated time and place. Then Marcel and his crew would get them safely out of the city. They'd spent time going over the plans; there were really no snags that he could see, though he knew that once a plan moved from planning to the doing, anything could happen. Somehow, he hadn't envisioned it all just blowing up in his face, though. Certainly had never envisioned so many dead bodies.

The morning came and went, and they went over the plan one more time.

"Gotta tell ya, Warden. Looks like this just might be that easy one they keep promisin us," Casino admitted, albeit grudgingly.

Chief just looked somber and shook his dark head, "dont know; somehow, it just feels off. You sure about these guys, Warden?"

Garrison frowned; usually it was Casino doing the doubting, Chief pretty much following Garrison's lead.

"HQ says Marcel Benoit has one of the best units around here; I don't see any problems."

Actor had a considering look on his face, "it would appear all is in order; I spoke with a couple of his men, they seemed both competent and trustworthy."

Garrison looked around for Goniff, resigned to getting a FOURTH opinion. Might as well just get it over with; he wasn't particularly happy about being questioned, but was gradually learning the guys sometimes really did have something pertinent to add to the discussion; at least, made him go over his plans one more time looking for loopholes. He frowned, realizing the slender pickpocket wasn't even in the room.

"Where the hell is Goniff?" he started to ask, when the wiry blond dodged back in through a door, flushing as he heard that demand.

"Right 'ere, Warden. Sorry, 'ad to take a leak, ya know??"

"You went down the hall? Alone? What if someone had asked you something? Damn it, Goniff! You don't speak French! Or German! Or anything that could pass! You should have waited and had me or Actor go with you!"

That got a comical look and wry grin, "went to take a LEAK, Warden. W'at was someone gonna be asking me while I was doing that, ei? Sides, kinda know 'ow to take care of that little job all by myself, prefer it that way, if you know w'at I mean??"

Garrison had growled some more, but then got back to the planning. He missed the rapid blinking of those blue eyes, that twitch of a muscle along his jawline, a sure sign of some deep thought going on (well, at least to the very few who really knew him). Chief didn't miss it, knew their pickpocket was worried about something, but he figured Goniff would share when he was ready; he wasn't gonna push. Still, it did put him on the alert.

Goniff's POV:  
"Ruddy 'ELL!!"

Meghada's POV:  
Catching Goniff's eye as the men moved past the hallway where she'd waited, in the shadows, had been easy; those hazy blue eyes seemed to see everything, though he went out of his way to make that his little secret. She'd noticed most people seemed to take that vague look at face value, though she'd never understood how they really COULD.

She'd seen the silent acknowledgement of her summoning jerk of the head. She'd waited til he'd slipped out of the hotel room, quickly filled him in, told him what she needed him to do, what she intended - well, at least in part.

The apprehension was evident on his face, as well as in his voice.

"Warden is gonna be pissed, 'Gaida; there's no way around that. Aint gonna be pretty. You sure you can't just talk to 'im, make 'im understand?"

She'd just shaken her head firmly.

"No, there's no time to try and convince him, no reason for him to trust me over Benoit, not with HQ vouching for him. Please, laddie, do it my way! It's important! It has to be timed just right. I'm counting on you; your life, THEIR lives depend on this!" and with a quick touch of the back of her fingers to his cheek, she was off and gone.

Well, after she'd watched to be sure he made it back inside that room; of course, she'd tried not to make that obvious, so she wasn't sure whether he knew that or not; she rather hoped not. She still found her inclination to protect him, guard him from harm slightly embarrassing; she thought he would as well.

Didn't mean she was going to stop, just that she would try to be subtle. Of course, that really wasn't one of her strong points, she acknowledged. Subtle just wasn't a Clan trait!

*It All Falls Apart -

Garrison's POV:  
It had all gone like clockwork. The transportation was right where they had been told to find it, the intel was sound. Inside, there'd not been any opposition and the plans were now placed right where they needed to be discovered. Now, on to the rendezvous and they'd be homeward bound! Yeah, an easy mission for once!

Until they were delayed when the keys to the transport were nowhere to be found, though Garrison could have sworn he had them in his pocket when they left the target's office. Chief could hot wire the car; well, so could Casino, possibly Garrison himself, except on a busy thoroughfare that would have attracted more than a little attention. Oh, Chief got it done, but he'd had to take it slow, just act like he was fixing a mechanical problem with the engine. Garrison had stood beside him, nodding, deflecting one or two inquiries, offers of assistance from passersby.

He'd taken a couple of concerned looks at his resident pickpocket, who had a pale green cast to his facial tones. Garrison wondered at that; usually Goniff got a little sick, well, more than a little, when flying, riding along mountain roads, in submarines, and after bloody battles. It was odd, that greenish tone, when NONE of that had been in their immediate history. He just hoped the man could control his stomach; somehow, he was sure the sight of someone heaving his guts out on the city's sidewalk wouldn't go unnoticed.

They pulled up to the rendezvous point, just in time to hear the last of the shots ringing through the air. They'd formed up behind and beside him, just as they'd practiced on many occasions, made their way forward. It was all over - Marcel and his men were sprawled along the narrow gap, as were a small group of men wearing Gestapo uniforms. Garrison froze, realizing they would have been in the middle of that if they hadn't been delayed.

Actor cleared his throat, voice strained. He and the others had been checking Marcel's unit.

"They're dead, Craig. All of them. It looks like Benoit was shot in the back of the head."

The icy voice from the side shocked each and every one of them.

"Then there's no sense hanging around, is there?? Come along; we have a sub to catch," and he turned to see Meghada, a very strange look on her face.

"What the hell happened here??!" he demanded harshly.

She raised one eyebrow, imperious, then a cold smile crossed her face, and she shrugged, "communication breakdown, it would seem. Left hand, right hand - you know, Lieutenant. Nothing all that troublesome; it all worked out well enough, don't you think? Took some quick double-talk to get them both here at the same time, you know, without realizing you and your men WEREN'T in the middle. You and your team came out of it with a whole skin, anyway."

"Oh, here are the plans you left behind; best to be tidy, you know, not leave any traces that you were here. Got the keys, Lieutenant? Might as well use your car; I came in one of their's; it'll be expected that their vehicles be close at hand when they're found. Would so hate to disappoint," jerking her head at Marcel and the others laying on the ground.

Goniff gave Chief a quick look of desperation, jerking his head slightly to the left. Luckily the Indian had already figured it out.

"Warden, sure you didn't put them in the OTHER pocket?"

And Garrison gave him an impatient look, started to say something, then stared in disbelief as his searching hand pulled the missing keys out of his LEFT pocket. Garrison gave a hard look at Chief, then an even harder one at his resident pickpocket, and handed the keys off to Chief.

Chief just looked bored as he turned to go back to the car; Goniff looked as innocent as a four-year old. Someday Garrison was going to have to figure out just how he accomplished that look.

He'd looked in dismay at that folded set of papers, thinking of all they'd gone through to get them in just the right place on the right desk. Not even THAT had gone right, due to this infuriating woman!

"How . . . Why??"

"Later, Lieutenant. We need to leave now; I imagine the noise has not gone unnoticed. I don't know about you, but I, for one, could use a good stiff shot of bourbon, not that I'm likely to come across one anytime soon. War - terribly inconvenient, as Kevin Richards has been known to remark."

He'd looked around at the bodies, "Marcel, his men . . ."

"Ah, well. Fortunes of war and all that. Come now, we have a tin can waiting for us. I can hardly wait," and the irony was deeply apparent in her voice.

He was appalled at the sheer callousness of that response, at the cold indifference in her voice. She'd somehow caused the deaths of an entire Underground unit, screwed up his entire mission, and she obviously didn't give a damn - even seemed rather pleased about it all!

She'd stayed apart on the submarine, nursing a cup of bad coffee, seeming to lose herself in her thoughts. She'd totally ignored the glares he'd sent her way, the almost as sternly disapproving ones she was getting from Actor, the apprehensive looks she was getting from the rest of the team. When Garrison had, once again, demanded an explanation, she coldly told him that she was under strict orders not to share, not with anyone, after an assignment, not til she talked to Major Kevin Richards, and for now, it seemed she was determined to follow those orders. 

They were debriefed separately, headed back to Brandonshire separately, him and his team in one vehicle, her - well, he just didn't know; he hadn't seen her since she'd finished with Richards and Garrison and his team had been called in to the Major's office to tell their story. He'd reported what had happened, and was more than confused when Major Richards just nodded, thanked him, and told him to let it rest. That made even less sense than everything else that had happened. {"Richards? Not Major Bradley? Bradley was the one who sent us out."}.

When he'd asked after Bradley, Richards had calmly told him, "the Major is in his own 'debriefing'; it was thought best I handle this." While that had told Garrison nothing, it HAD told him he wasn't going to gain anything by pressing. (Richards had no intention of telling the frustrated young Lieutenant that the 'debriefing' was to determine whether Bradley had acted in all honesty, had simply been misled, or whether he was one of those they kept finding in their ranks - Nazi sympathizers or plants determined to foul up the Allied efforts in any way possible.) 

It had been the following day when Garrison had shown up at the Cottage, even more infuriated to find his resident pickpocket already there, making himself at home, making a pot of tea as if it was the expected thing to do.

Goniff's POV:  
"RUDDY 'ELL!!!"

Meghada's POV:  
Benoit had already set the meeting place, had informed the Gestapo of the plan. When Garrison's men entered that gap, they'd find the black-garbed men waiting for them, with Benoit's men blocking their exit to the rear. They'd be caught in a perfect cross-fire, if the intent was deadly, which she rather thought it was. Of course, capture might be the goal, but caught between the two units, the men still wouldn't have had any chance of escape.

It hadn't been easy, manoeuvering all the parties involved, but she thought she'd been successful, though she wouldn't, couldn't know for sure til it all went down. If nothing else, at least she'd warned Goniff; with him delaying the team's arrival, his knowing they were headed toward an ambush, knowing to warn Garrison if they arrived at the meeting place before it all went down if he didn't see that little 'all clear' sign she'd promised to post, whether this worked the way she'd set it up or not, the team had a good chance of making it back home again.

Herself? Well, the plan required her to be there, inside the gap, make any last minute adjustments necessary, to fire that first shot; whether it was a success or a failure, whether she'd walk away was more questionable.

She stretched, rubbing the small of her back, trying to relax the muscles. Waiting was a big part of the job, but sometimes she just wasn't in the proper frame of mind for it.

She'd seen the Gestapo unit arrive, get in position, hidden at the far end of the gap. She kept her fingers crossed, praying Goniff had been able to delay the team sufficiently, and it looked as if he had. When Benoit and his crew arrived, right on time she was pleased to note, she'd appeared at the entrance of the gap, giving the Underground leader a grim smile and signaled all was in place. Of course, Benoit would think that meant Garrison and his men were already inside; at least that was what she was counting on. From the evil look of satisfaction on the man's face, it looked like she'd rolled a winner.

She'd let the men pass her, then joined them to slip into the shadows at the side. Silently drawing her revolver, she put one single bullet into the back of Benoit's head; he was the only one who she thought had the ability to make the Gestapo stand down. Then another bullet into the Gestapo officer in the lead of the men appearing at the other end of the narrow space.

A harsh gutteral cry in German, "we've been betrayed; it's a trap! Kill them!", then another in French saying the same, and the two forces started firing at each other.

She moved further into the shadows and crouched behind an outcropping; {"be a damned shame to get hit now, when it's all going so nicely!"}, thinking uneasily of ricochets. When the bullets stopped, she darted to the entrance, dropped that small scarf when it could be seen, and moved back inside to wait.

By the time Garrison and his men arrived, it was over, the last shots still ringing in the air. From the look on the American Lieutenant's face, she was going to have some serious explaining to do. She'd known that, had accepted it earlier, but now, she just wasn't in the mood. She stretched, hands at the small of her back, arching her body. No, just not in the mood.

The ride to the rendezvous point had been made in silence; the trip in the belly of that stinky tin can pretty much the same, except for the demand for an explanation, which she flat out refused to give. The only saving grace was the coffee; oh, it was nasty stuff, but it wasn't nearly as foul as the looks she was getting from Garrison. The others, well, Actor was looking almost as grim, Casino just looked confused. Goniff and Chief, from them she had gotten quietly appraising looks, but there was nothing of condemnation in their eyes, just worry about what was coming next.

She'd plopped herself down in the chair in front of Richards' desk, meeting his questioning eyes with a grim nod.

"Aye, you were right. The Underground unit was wiped out almost two months ago; this crew wasn't in contact with the other units in the area, just with Bradley. Well, and with the Gestapo, of course. Bradley was feeding them our agents, Anna, then Colin. I guess he decided to go for the gold and give them an entire team this time."

The words had been calm enough, but Richards had known her for a long time, knew she was seriously pissed.

"They could have ended up dead, Kevin, all of them, dead or captured. Have to say I'm not overly impressed. I thought you were going to try and stall?"

He'd sighed, nodded, "well, yes, that was the plan. However, Colonel Carmichael obviously thought differently; seems he thought I was just being a bit petty. I didn't know Garrison and his team had been sent out til after the fact, when it was too late to do anything about it."

She'd eyed him long enough for him to start shifting in his chair in discomfort, then had given a deep sigh of her own.

"And now?"

"Once I received the message from the submarine commander, the signal we'd agreed on, I was able to convince the Powers That Be to put Bradley in isolation. He is in his own 'debriefing' as we speak. Hopefully you have enough to let us keep him."

She pulled open the bottom buttons of her shirt, laying two locks of hair, matted and dirty, on his desk. She watched as he paled and swallowed heavily.

"I found their bodies, Kevin, in a ravine in back of their headquarters. Surely that is more than enough."

He'd nodded slowly, "considering Bradley insists they both radio'd in already well enroute back to London, yes, I'd say it gives us enough reason." 

 

*Finale -

Garrison was furious with her, and had intended to let her know it, without any restraints, no matter how ice cold her face was. The news he'd gotten earlier, that Major Bradley, during his 'debriefing' had somehow, and for some unknown reason, grabbed someone's service revolver and killed himself hadn't improved his mood. He wanted answers and he damned well wanted them now!!

Goniff had intercepted him before he'd gotten more than a few sentences into his tirade, placing himself firmly between the two of them.

"Warden! No, better not!"

He'd barely heard the apprehensive interjection by the wiry little Englishman as he wound up to deliver another round of irate criticism. 

"Ruddy 'ell, Warden!! You're not listening! You got it all wrong!!" Goniff delivered urgently, with a firm grasp to Garrison's shoulder.

Well, no, he wasn't listening, but why should he??! He was pissed, and not inclined to pay much heed to a slender English pickpocket, much less an obviously non-remorseful Meghada offering explanations, not that she seemed inclined in that direction, not from that steely, even implacable look in those gold-brown eyes and the stubborn cast to her mouth. He sure as hell wasn't interested in hearing Goniff's take on the situation, seeing his resident pickpocket seemed to accept whatever the redheaded contract agent came up with as reasonable, no matter how UNreasonable it really was. He still hadn't forgotten that trick with the keys!

Still, there was something about Goniff's intensity, the urgency in his voice, the warning inherent in his blue eyes that caught his attention, caused him to take another look at the young woman, then over at his pickpocket, then back at Meghada once again.

His voice caught in his throat, his blood chilled for some reason. {"No, I think yelling at her is probably not the best idea I've ever had,"} he admitted to himself, feeling the chill all the way to his spleen. Most people, when they were upset, even angry, their eyes might spark, but hell, they didn't actually GLITTER! What the hell was that all about, anyway??

Goniff came closer, his voice softer, his hand easy on Garrison's shoulder now, "let's move back a step or two, ei?? Think the two of you might be a little too over-wrought to be discussing this right now. 'Ow about we 'ave a nice drink, maybe a snack. THEN we can talk about it all. Think I saw a tin of sweet biscuits in the pantry. And I know there's cheese and maybe some sausage in the cold box to go with those crackers, and some mixed pickles too."

Somehow Goniff bringing a 'snack' into the whole equation struck Garrison as amusing, and the low snicker he just couldn't restrain seemed to diffuse the tension a little. Well, Goniff always seemed to think food was a positive influence on any situation; maybe he was right.

Garrison eyed the smoldering Meghada, sipping at the drink Goniff had poured for her, the Englishman displaying an unexplicable, almost frantic urgency in keeping that glass full; what was he missing here?? He wasn't sure, couldn't figure it out. Still, he was missing SOMETHING, that he gathered, even if he was a loss as to what. Just WHAT??!

He drew a deep breath, tried to be the voice of reason. "So, if I've got it all wrong, then what IS the story?"

He waited, not patiently, but he did wait, til Meghada swallowed the rest of her drink, watched while Goniff tipped the bottle quickly over her glass once more, waited while the redhead took a deep breath, and told him the whole of it.

And, he had to admit, he couldn't be angry with her, with either of them. And, really, she hadn't even let Goniff know what she planned, not everything. She had seen the danger, not just to Goniff but to the whole team. And while maybe she should have approached him, as the team leader, when she realized Marcel and his men had been replaced by imposters intent on taking down as many Allied operatives as they could, well, she was accustomed to working alone.

Somehow, by the time she got around to mentioning it, it wasn't even that much of a surprise - that the fake papers they were to plant on that German officer's desk? The papers she'd somehow gotten back? That German officer happened to be one of their own, working undercover, and those papers being found in his possession would have led to his certain execution. Seems Bradley had been working a very intricate web of undermining the Allies. 

Hell, he wasn't sure he could blame her for not coming to him right off; he realized she didn't really trust him yet, not with their welfare, and he had to admit he wouldn't have been quick to believe her. She had seen the danger, and she had reacted; had protected them, no matter the cost.

He remembered again that she'd gone to that meeting place with the faux Marcel, had been there when the bullets started flying. And those who threatened them, they wouldn't have hesitated, not one moment; not either side. If she had held back, had been timid in her response, just how many of his team would have survived? Garrison wouldn't have laid odds on that question.

He looked into those glittering gold-brown eyes, those uncompromising eyes, and swallowed deeply. Any qualms HE might have, and consideration of how HE would have handled a similar situation, he knew she had made the only decisions she thought she could make. Yes, there were conversations that needed to be held, but not immediately. Soon, though, soon; it seemed they were each striving in the same direction. 

He DID need to have a serious conversation with her, he knew that, about future threats, about their joint responsibilties, their loyalties. Perhaps it was time they coordinated their efforts, started putting more trust in each other. He heard himself think that thought, and realized he'd just shocked himself even more than this whole affair had shocked him.

Garrison thought maybe he should inquire further, in particular about Kevin Richards and where he fit into all this, why Richards had told him to 'let it rest', but then decided against it. Maybe there was no more than what the young woman had told him. He thought about the old saying about 'having a tiger by the tail', and he felt that was more relevant than you might think.

He did venture a cautious but neutral, "and you thought this was the best response?"

He was halfway expecting the "it seemed a reasonable response at the time," though the follow-up, almost a grudging muttering did seem a bit odd, being delivered in a more sheepish manner than he'd seen in her before.

"Sides, they caught me at the wrong time of the month, you know?? Don't have a lot of patience left for nonsense sometimes round then!" caught him by surprise. Somehow, the abrupt laugh that issued forth from his throat, thinking of his sister Lynn, didn't seem overly appropriate, but, yet, somehow, it did.

Another drink, that 'little snack' that turned into a satisfying meal, followed by tea with sweet biscuits - somehow, that was the start of a building relationship, one he rather thought would benefit everyone involved.


End file.
